Memories
by Elphaba'sGirl
Summary: "The last time she saw him was on Christmas Eve. He proposed to her that night. Their cheeks were flushed with cold, (they'd been walking all over the City, simply enjoying the company), and then he just... Knelt down."


**Hi again! How are you? Wonderful. Kay, so I still don't own newsies, and enjoy!**

* * *

In this moment, with the wind tearing through her hair and freezing the tears that smudged her makeup on her cheeks, Katherine only knows that it will never get easier. It will never hurt any less, and she will never be able to move on.

Never, David has told her, is a strong word. Never is a very long time. Never is too little time to heal her wounds.

She places her hands on the damp earth, letting the dirt run through her fingers. It is slipping away, just as he has. She bows her head and allows her salty tears to fall upon the ground. Reaching out, she lays one trembling hand on the cold stone, tracing the letters engraved there for the twenty-eighth time.

Her breathing is uneven, and she pulls her hands to her chest as she curls into herself, her body very small as she kneels before the tombstone. She twists a silver ring around her finger. She's vowed never to take it off.

And there is that word again. Never. Never did she think that the word whispered as they walked together down the streets of Manhattan would one day be her burden to bear.

The gravestone blocks the worst of of the cruel January wind, protecting her. Her black skirts are drenched, thanks to the ugly, slushy snow, and she wears no coat.

It has been two weeks. Two weeks since he died, and everything is different.

But perhaps what is different about it was that it is so normal.

She's walked down the same streets where, just weeks before, they held hands and kissed each other gently under the mistletoe hanging from the decorated street lamps.

* * *

_Jack had been waiting for this day for six months. It had, he realized, been six months since he decided to ask Katherine to marry him. And it had taken six months of working longer hours, of pulling all-nighters just to make a little extra money from the Sun for his drawings, to earn enough money to buy her a ring._

_It was, he thought, a beautiful ring. Silver, with a single tiny diamond. Nowhere near as beautiful as her, of course._

_He hoped she'd like it._

_But, the extra work had taken its toll. Along with the cold, Jack found himself growing thinner as the winter wore on. He allotted himself ten cents per week for food, and sometimes not even that. The soles of his shoes wore thin, and he'd sold his coat a while back._

_And, of course, he did his best to hide this from Katherine._

_But, of course, Katherine noticed. She always noticed. She noticed the dark bags under his eyes, and even though his clothing was loose, when she held him close, she could feel his ribs through the fabric._

_He told her not to worry, and at the end of the six months, when he got down on one knee and asked her, in the way only a newsboy can, "Katherine Elizabeth Plumber-Pulitzer-" (for he'd taken to hyphenating her name, not wanting to call her the same thing as everyone else, and not wanting to have to call her simply Katherine Pulitzer. Of course, soon, if all went well, she'd be Katherine Kelly) "- wouldja do me the honor of, ah, becomin' my wife?" Katherine, of course, accepted, and they planned to be married come spring._

* * *

After the strike, Jack was a little better off than most of the newsies. Not to say, of course, that it was by much, or that it wasn't hard earned. No, he worked night and day selling newspapers and illustrating for the _Sun_, and any spare moment he spent with Katherine. She, in turn, forced him to eat and sleep.

Even with their small victory against Pulitzer, the boys were all in a whole lot of trouble financially. Katherine helped out as best she could, sending them money through Jack, and Jack himself saved every spare penny for them.

She'd begun to worry when he quit coming to see her on Tuesday nights (his only free night). The boys thought he was with her, and she hadn't seen him since Friday.

Katherine brushes away a tear at the memory. It is, she sees now, the beginning of the end.

* * *

_"Thank ya, Jack." The boy reached through the thick steel bars to take the soft roll and glass of water. His name was Andrew, (though he went by Racetrack on the streets), and he'd been with Jack's group of newsies during the strike. Now, a year later, Snyder's prison sentence was complete and he'd reopened the Refuge. It was, granted, slightly different than it had been before, and there were regular inspections by Theodore Roosevelt, (once a month, at Jack's request), but he was a busy man, and Jack was willing to bet that they weren't as thorough as they should have been._

_Besides, Snyder was, according to all accounts, a changed man. And why shouldn't a changed man be trusted?_

_Still, though the rooms filled with bunks for the children were cleaner than they had been, there were still far too many children in the space, and while they, too, were certainly cleaner than before, that was more due to the improved conditions _outside_ of the Refuge rather than in._

_And the solitary confinement cells, which could now only be accessed through Warden Snyder's office, existed without Roosevelt's knowledge, and they had not changed a bit._

_"You're welcome, Race," Jack said kindly. He tried not to let the pounding of his heart show in his voice, but it was difficult. He placed a wedge of cheese into Race's hand. "We're gonna getcha outta there, I swear it."_

_"I trust ya, Jacky." Race spoke around a mouthful of bread, and the glimmer of hope in his eyes made Jack's heart break even more._

_That was his beginning. He visited whichever boy was in solitary at night, and brought them food. Brought them hope. For the first few weeks, there was only actually someone in there a few of the days, and then they came more frequently._

_Solitary, he realized, was becoming an escape. A way to get food that wasn't rotten or moldy. Jack was glad to be doing something for them, but he couldn't help but notice the scars on their bodies, and was reminded of the ones that covered his back and sides._

_He began bringing them more than food. Blankets, bandages, clothing, you name it. If it was needed, he got it for them, whatever the cost._

_For the six months he saved up to buy Katherine's ring, he was stretched very thin on money, often only eating once or twice a week. But it was worth it, to see the look on her face when he got down on one knee, and to see the boys in the Refuge look up at him with such hope in their eyes..._

* * *

The last time she saw him was on Christmas Eve. He proposed to her that night, and she begins to cry again just thinking about it. Their cheeks were flushed with cold, (they'd been walking all over the City, simply enjoying the company), and then he just... Knelt down. And there it was.

They wanted their wedding to be in the spring. They planned it all out that very night.

Katherine remembers every word. Every word, exactly as he said it, in his perfect voice. Sometimes she can hear him singing in her head, with his deep, beautiful voice that paints pictures in her mind of a little town out west called Santa Fe.

"Le's get married in Santa Fe, Ace," he said that night. She laughed at him, and he laughed back. The laugh haunts her now.

It is snowing harder, and she wishes she thought to bring a coat. Then she remembers that she did, and that she gave it to a young newsie out selling papers on the street. He had only one shoe, and only a vest to warm his body. Her coat is in much more deserving hands now.

* * *

_Les and David were home with their family, taking a day off from selling papes. Jack was on his own. It was Christmas Day, and he just wanted to be rid of his fifty newspapers, so he could be back with Katherine, making wedding plans._

_But for now, he was alone, and it made him careless._

_"I didn' steal nothin'!"_

_Jack looked across the street, at a young boy with no shoes and ragged trousers, who was arguing with an older man in front of a book shop. The boy's eyes were wide with terror, but Jack could see the faint outline of a book beneath his shirt. They stood beside a cart of holiday books on sale._

_"You did steal it! I'm missing a book, you imbecile, and I intend to get it back!" The old man wore glasses and his hair was white, but he was stronger than the little boy, and gripped the front of his thin shirt, dragging him forward._

_Jack was across the street in an instant. "Look, mista', the kid didn' do nothin'." He stood between the boy and the peddler, his back to the cart as he slid a book discreetly under his vest._

_"I'm missing my merchandise, and if he doesn't return it, I'll have him arrested!" The little old man was growing angrier by the minute, his already flushed cheeks boiling red._

_"Well, aren'tcha jus' full 'a the Christmas spirit, huh?" Jack said teasingly._

_"I'm not playing games, boy. Stealing is a serious crime, and this little thief must pay for what he's done!"_

_Jack reached under his vest and dramatically pulled out the book, a sigh on his lips. The child thief looked up at him with wide eyes. _

_"I jus' wanted ta give my sista' a Christmas present," Jack mumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets._

_In that moment, it was worth it, to know that this kid would still be free come nightfall._

* * *

Katherine remembers when David came to tell her that Jack had been put back in the Refuge. His sentence was two years and nine months, for stealing. She didn't get to see him that Christmas, or any Christmas after, because two weeks, three days, and six hours later, she received word that he was dead.

He died in the Refuge, like so many others.

It was attributed, among other things, to malnutrition, mild pneumonia, and blood loss.

She misses him. She misses him dreadfully. She doesn't sleep, most nights. The memory of his laugh and his voice keeps her awake. She blames herself, a little. She doesn't know why, but she should have been able to do something, anything.

Now she stands at the train platform. In her bag, she carries two changes of clothes- though the style won't suit the weather where she's going- an extra pair of shoes, a drawing of a beautiful girl under a tree in Central Park, (drawn, of course, without the subject's knowledge), and a newspaper clipping from around a year ago. The heading reads "Children's Crusade: Newsies Stop the World" and beneath it is a picture of a group of boys, with Jack in the centre. Some of the ink near the bottom of the page is smudged with her tears.

In her hand is the bag. On her head is a wide-brimmed hat. On her finger is a diamond ring, which she's vowed never to remove.

In her heart is sorrow. Only that. She's lost the joy, now, but as she steps onto the train, she can't help but get a little bit excited to actually see this place.

New York City, of course, is still lit up. The city never sleeps, you see. Soon, though, it'll be far enough behind her that it might as well.

She loses herself as she looks at Jack's picture in the paper. She looks at it, and twists the ring around her finger, and passes an hour like that.

Then, she throws once last glance over her shoulder, at the City. The lights are dim from here, and she imagines that it is finally sleeping. Her mind wanders to Jack again. She thinks of his smile. Of his eyes. Of his voice. She sighs.

The moon isn't bright, here. Jack used to say that it was bigger out west, but from here it just looks sad, and a bit lonely up in the sky, like it's waited too long for someone who isn't coming.

_When the City's finally sleeping, _

_and the moon looks old and grey, _

_I get on a train that's bound for _

_Santa Fe._


End file.
